“I suppose I ought to help,” he said, “but it seems to me taking a needless risk, sending anyone out into the dark like that. For all we know the fellow may be out there yet, with his gun. I don’t think anyone should go. I’m not going,” he concluded simply. Sir Clinton glanced up for a moment and scanned Ernest with eyes that made no effort to conceal their contempt. “I didn’t ask you to volunteer. Go on, Wendover. I’ll come and give you a hand as soon as Ardsley arrives.” As Wendover turned to leave the room Stenness’s figure appeared at the door. It was evident that the secretary had been put on the alert by the hurrying to and fro in the house, and had come to see what was amiss; but apparently he had had no inkling of the real state of affairs. Wendover saw him glance from one to another in the room until at last his eyes lighted upon the limp figure of Sylvia stretched on the couch. Then a flash of expression crossed his features, something which betrayed an intense emotion; but Wendover, at the moment, was unable to interpret it. He stored it up in his memory for future consideration, and then left the room. “And now,” said Sir Clinton, “I think we’d better take Miss Hawkhurst up to her room. We can manage it well enough; and she’d better be there rather than here when she comes to herself again.” Under his directions this was carried out. On reaching Sylvia’s room, Sir Clinton looked round and then, going over to the window, he endeavoured to scan the surroundings; but it was obviously too dark to see much. “I think we’ll shift this bed,” he suggested, when he came back. “It had better be brought over into this corner. Then there will be no possibility of any shot reaching it from the window. One never knows . . .” He paused for a moment. “Now I think Miss Forrest and I had better wait here till Miss Hawkhurst comes out of her faint; or at any rate till Dr. Ardsley turns up. But we mustn’t have a crowd here just now.” His manner, rather than his words, cleared the room of his late assistants; and he and Vera Forrest were left alone. Sir Clinton, after feeling Sylvia’s pulse, succeeded in giving her a few drops of brandy. Soon she stirred faintly. Sir Clinton left the bedside and returned to the window. Down below, at a short distance, he could see Wendover busy with the flash-lamp. Quite obviously he had not yet found anything. As Sir Clinton turned away from the window Vera Forrest beckoned him aside. “What do you think, Sir Clinton? Is there any chance of her getting over it?” Sir Clinton’s grave face showed the anxiety which was at work in his mind.